


Afraid in my demise

by Sunflora_Or_Maybe_Sasqh



Series: Rogue planet [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Breezepelt as a loner is my reason to live, Breezepelt had a thing for Antpelt, Breezepelt is angsty, Hollyleaf is dead and that makes me satisfied, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, One Shot, Other, all the other characters are just mentioned, loner Breezepelt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflora_Or_Maybe_Sasqh/pseuds/Sunflora_Or_Maybe_Sasqh
Summary: Breezepelt ran away from the clans after the Great BattleThe loneliness is slowly getting to him
Series: Rogue planet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101791
Kudos: 13





	Afraid in my demise

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so that's my first one-shot on here bear with me-
> 
> Sorry about any mistakes, English isn't my first language

He wasn't sure what was keeping him walking.   
Was it despair ? Desire for revenge? Anger ?  
One thing was sure, it wasn't his will to live.

It's not like he had anything to live for anymore. The Great Battle had ended, the Clans were victorious, both Brokenstar and Tigerstar were dead, and Breezepelt had ran away.

Ran away from the clans.  
He wasn't planning on coming back anytime soon, he didn't have any reason to go back.

There was no good aspects to the Great Battle, except for Hollyleaf's death.   
She had ruined his life, and now she was dead. It was fair payback. 

* * *

He knew what would happen if he came back, they would treat him as a monster, and they would be right, but he wasn't going to apologize.  
He had nothing to apologize for.

Not even Nightcloud, nor Heathertail would make him go back.   
They would see him as a monster, too, and he knew he wouldn't be able to bear Heathertail being disgusted by him, nor Nightcloud being disappointed in him. 

Not anymore at least. 

* * *

What happened when he was about to end Lionblaze's miserable existence still tasted sour in his mouth.  
Crowfeather had stopped him.

  
He had preferred a son he never knew was his,  
a son that was from another clan,   
a son that was a _mistake_

Over the one that grew up _right in front of him._

  
That enraged him.  
But that was nothing compared to what followed.

  
Crowfeather said that he didn't hate him, and that Nightcloud was the one who encouraged him to believe that.  
A cruel joke, if you asked Breezepelt.  
How could he accuse Nightcloud of this kind of thing when _she_ was the only cat still alive who didn't hate him ?   
That was messed up.

* * *

The more days went by, the more Breezepelt found himself missing Antpelt.

  
Antpelt who didn't hate him.   
Antpelt who seemed to understand him.   
Antpelt who died a useless death.

  
Ivypool had killed him. For good.  
Breezepelt could never forgive her for that.

The first time Antpelt died, Breezepelt felt like he was also in physical pain, every step, every _breath_ he took felt like agony, like the one Antpelt went through before he finally died.

When he did finally pass, Breezepelt tried to console himself by remembering that he would still see him in the Dark Forest each time he'd fall asleep, and that was the reason he'd told the other trainees not to utter a word about his death. 

But the second time, the agony was replaced by the feeling that he lost something, something deep inside him. Something he could never have back.  
He wasn't sure what it was, and he didn't want to know. 

What he did know was that his hatred, along with his anger, only grew bigger and bigger, slowly consuming him from the inside.

A waste of time, it was all gone now, and that anger and hatred burning inside him, making his judgment hazy and invaded with the idea of revenge was all he had left.

He was a mess. He perfectly knew it. And he was perfectly fine with it.

* * *

Sometimes in camp, he'd feel like he was prey. Unsuspecting and ready to be shredded, or scared and jumpy, waiting for a signal to run or snap.  
He was a rabbit and his clanmates were hunting him down.  
They were trying to get him to snap, to have something to blame him for (or maybe he was thinking about it too hard).

He was always on the edge, ready to break at the slightest thing that wouldn't go as planned. It was no surprise all four clans hated him. But he was fine with it. 

He was used to the loneliness and the hateful glares.   
Crowfeather at least gave him something useful by being the worst father to ever exist. 

* * *

He missed Clan life.   
And he hated himself for realizing that a Clan cat stayed a Clan cat no matter what. 

He didn't miss WindClan. 

He missed the routine.

He missed knowing where he was going.

He missed the annoying buzzing inside of camp at dusk, when every cats were there, eating, sharing tongues or preparing for their last patrol of the day.

He missed the oh-so annoying, naive apprentices bugging him.  
He would snap at them _Apprentices are a chore._ he often thought, forgetting that he was also an apprentice once.

And even if he wouldn't admit it. 

He missed being around other cats.

They may have been the most disgusting, judging and calculating pieces of fox-dung towards him (so ironic, when you think about how he treated others). 

He could try as hard as he wanted to convince himself otherwise.

The loneliness was getting to him.

* * *

He had snapped.  
He didn't remember what had happened.  
But he had snapped.

And it hurt.

A burning sensation in his entire body.  
His paws were full of blood, and fur was stuck in his claws.  
He didn't knew what or who it belonged to.  
The disgusting taste of blood lingered in his mouth (maybe it was his, maybe it was his opponent's).   
Just like the reek of fox lingered in the air.  
It wasn't like the black tom noticed it anyway, the scent of blood was also lingering and unbearable. Plus his mind was too fuzzy for him to notice it. 

His flanks felt like they were on fire.  
It was hurting bad. 

Yet, it was relieving, in some way, it changed from the longing or occasional apathy he had been feeling for what felt like seasons.

The pain was almost unbearable, yet it felt good, familiar, welcoming almost.  
The pain -physical or emotional- always had been a normal part of his life. 

He used to hate it, to cry his heart out whenever he was alone to try and relieve it, but as time passed by and the weight of reality became heavier and heavier on his shoulders, he'd learned to suck it up, growing accustomed to it, even taking a liking in the cold burn, tirelessly twisting his heart. 

That was messed up. 

_He_ was messed up. 

He fell over, the blood loss draining his force away at an alarmating rate.  
His vision was getting edged with black.

He hoped that if he woke up, it would be between the familiar rotting trees of the Dark Forest. Maybe old Thistleclaw or Shredtail would still be here ? He didn't remember them dying in the battle.   
And if they weren't here,   
well.  
Breezepelt just hoped he could finally rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Breezepelt is probably OOC but I swear this was so much fun to write
> 
> The next part should be coming out in a few days if I don't slack off too much lmao-
> 
> If you could give me feedback I would be extremely grateful


End file.
